


If You Want A Man

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Football RPF, Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, El Clásico, FC Barcelona, I haven't written porn in 84 years and this is the pairing that inspired me?, I hope you'll give it a chance, M/M, Messimiro, NSFW, PWP, Real Madrid CF, Rimming, Sex, Spanking, fictional game, the author's sanity should be questioned, the most random of pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: "Ney and I are close, you know. So he tells me stuff," Casemiro ventures, as he helps Messi to his feet. His hands look so tanned against Messi's pale skin that it nearly makes him laugh before he focuses back on Messi's face. "About you," he adds, when Messi doesn't answer. “And him.”"About me? What?" Messi asks finally, dark eyes half on the ball and half on Casemiro--never truly forgetting about the possibility of a quick start. He's never exchanged more than five words with Casemiro before this, and it seems as though this conversation is following along in the same vein as the others.And knowing that, knowing that Messi is only half paying attention, makes Casemiro grin."Like how good you look on your knees," Casemiro daringly says, fingers still interlocked with Messi's, grip tight enough to feel the thrum of Messi's pulse in his wrist. He doesn't quite whisper it, but he's aware of all the other players around him. Still, his tone is casual, unworried, with just the hint of seduction--something that he'll never admit to having practiced but absolutely has.
Relationships: Carlos Casemiro/Lionel Messi, Implied Lionel Messi/Neymar
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	If You Want A Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pique/gifts), [Jackdaws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaws/gifts).



> This is inspired by Casemiro fouling Messi, and then helping him up repeatedly. Happens more than you think, and here's an example lol. Actually happens twice in this game but here's the first ~4:08 [Youtube: Messi vs Madrid Away (16-17)](https://youtu.be/hjpiOWtfxI0?t=248)
> 
> That said, I know this is such a weird pairing and you're probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Lots of things for sure. But idk man, when I write, if something really really inspires me, I'm able to pound out a few thousand words without even thinking about it. And that's what happened here. I just kept thinking, 'what if?' and kept seeing the two of them... it just kept coming and coming and before I knew it, I had something that seemed okay enough to share.

It starts on the pitch.

In extra time.

Casemiro doesn't exactly plan on saying anything, but something inappropriate comes to mind when he looks down and sees how Messi's sprawled out over the grass. Cheeks flushed, legs spread, shorts a little high on the thigh... He's just reminded of something Neymar once said and has a thought that it might throw Messi off his game to know that Casemiro's in possession of a particular bit of information about certain private activities.

"Ney and I are close, you know. So he tells me stuff," Casemiro ventures, as he helps Messi to his feet. His hands look so tanned against Messi's pale skin that it nearly makes him laugh before he focuses back on Messi's face. "About you," he adds when Messi doesn't answer. “And him.”

"About me? What?" Messi asks finally, dark eyes half on the ball and half on Casemiro--never truly forgetting about the possibility of a quick start. He's never exchanged more than five words with Casemiro before this, and it seems as though this conversation is following along in the same vein as the others.

And knowing that, knowing that Messi is only half paying attention, makes Casemiro grin.

"Like how good you look on your knees," Casemiro daringly says, fingers still interlocked with Messi's, grip tight enough to feel the thrum of Messi's pulse in his wrist. He doesn't quite whisper it, but he's aware of all the other players around him. Still, his tone is casual, unworried, with just the hint of seduction--something that he'll never admit to having practiced but absolutely has.

It earns him Messi's full attention, as a flash of something passes through Messi's gaze. Interest? Messi raises his eyebrows, hands falling from Casemiro's at normal speed, giving no sign he's in any way bothered by what's just been said. "Did he?" Messi asks, sounding curious.

Casemiro hides his pout, but he'd hoped for more of a reaction. "He used to talk about you a lot," he says instead, and it's not exactly a lie. "Tell me everything you did, everything you did with him." This time he says it suggestively, making it clear exactly what they're talking about.

He wants Messi to be shocked. Appalled. Embarrassed.

Someone's injured down behind them, so play hasn't resumed--not that there can be much left at this point, but all of a sudden Casemiro's sure Messi would have continued looking at him even if the ball was moving.

"Everything?" Messi asks then, a coy smile stretching across his face. His dimples appear and his tongue touches his teeth. It's close to a real smile, and if Casemiro hadn't watched enough interviews or ever talked to Messi, he'd think it was genuine.

But...

It's not.

Messi's toying with him.

He's not embarrassed at all, is he?

Casemiro wavers indecisively about what to say next, not having expected to get this far, and the spell is broken. Messi laughs as he turns away and looks upfield. The referee is signaling that they're about to restart and Messi shakes his head. "Not everything, then," Messi says over his shoulder. "Figures."

The whistle blows once and then again quickly, the referee not bothering to let them play out the last minute.

The conversation is over. And so is the game.

Casemiro got ten words this time.

But they're definitely not finished.

*****

Casemiro's had enough.

He's pushed Messi's chest up against the wall before he can think about it, gripping Messi's wrists together tightly over their heads. All he can think about is pinning him quickly. Messi's cheekbone is flush against the tiles in surprise, face turned over his shoulder just enough so that Casemiro can see the dark flutter of lashes over ivory skin.

The side room is empty except for them, but the hallways are still echoing with the sounds of their teammates.

They're alone for now, but that could change at any moment.

"You like this," Casemiro says, breathing hotly over Messi's ear before letting his lips brush the lobe, *just so*. "You like to be pushed around. Held down. Manhandled by someone stronger than you." He certainly likes it--likes having Messi up against the wall.

Likes feeling Messi's thundering heartbeat.

Still, he's guessing now. Ney's gossipy tales didn't revolve around Messi's sex life as much as Casemiro had led Messi to believe. Sure the boy had implied things here and there, but Neymar was much more likely to dissolve into nervous high pitched laughter as opposed to revealing actual details about Messi's favorite sexual positions.

But Casemiro's sure he's on the right track, especially with the way Messi's body is arched back into him...

The tile must be cold on Messi's bare chest, but Messi doesn't move at the insinuation, motionless as Casemiro noses at the softness beneath his ear and sucks openmouthed in the same spot. "Maybe I do," Messi says, finally shuddering then at a graze of teeth, hips shifting against the wall restlessly. "What are you going to do about it?"

Messi's baiting him and Casemiro's blood burns. He'll give Messi what he wants--what they both want.

Casemiro flicks his tongue out for another mouthful, groaning as he tastes salt. He tightens his hold on Messi's wrists when he feels a mockery of struggling. "Maybe I'll fuck you right here and now," Casemiro says eagerly, pressing his hardness against that jiggling ass in front of him.

He's been hard since that moment during the match when Messi had bent over to tie his laces and showed off his best asset.

Messi's thin shorts have never done anything to disguise the promise of pert cheeks, and Casemiro's never going to forget that moment--how the blue fabric clung like a second skin to perfectly rounded globes. And now, pinned against the wall, Messi's ass is on display again. Casemiro's mouth is dry, words escaping him as he realizes he's finally going to bury himself inside what he's desired for so long. His cock twitches with want, fighting its prison and begging to be freed.

He thrusts a few times, unable to help himself, knowing they must look like frantic teenagers rutting together while still wearing shorts. (And it'll be even more ridiculous if someone stumbles in and finds them.) But it leads to his cock grinding perfectly into the crease of fabric between Messi's cheeks, and both of them gasp at immediate welcoming heat.

"Do it then," Messi spits, pushing back into him the best he can. "Fuck me."

"Someone might hear," Casemiro warns halfheartedly, forgetting about Messi's wrists altogether and reaching down to free his cock. He pulls his white shorts and underwear down just enough, groaning in relief as he gets a hand on himself. He's dripping already, and his thumb spreads his wetness over the tip with eagerness. He knows he should care more about being seen, so he makes one last effort to give Messi an out. "Someone might come in."

Messi's still facing the wall in front of him, hands over his head, and back arched. His legs are spread slightly, ass jutting out like he's waiting for it, shorts high and tight on his quads and fabric pushed alluringly into the crease of his ass. He doesn't answer Casemiro, doesn't give one bit of indication that he wants to stop.

It’s a challenge.

So Casemiro doesn't stop.

Casemiro peels Messi's clothes off like he's unwrapping a present, licking his lips in excitement as he drags off first the blue shorts and then the blue briefs. He lets them fall down around Messi's feet carelessly. His fingers trail down those thick thighs and back up, hands spanning the meat of Messi's ass with glee. "Fuck, yes," he murmurs, grabbing two large handfuls, kneading, letting his fingertips tease before digging his fingernails in lightly.

Messi gasps then, spreading his legs wider. They're partially trapped because his shorts are still tucked around his ankles, but he does his best while muttering something under his breath. "Maybe you--don't have what it takes," Messi taunts when Casemiro squeezes him roughly.

"Oh, you bitch," Casemiro breathes, letting go to bring his hand down flat on Messi's ass. The resulting crack is so incredibly loud in the room that he thinks it's only a matter of time before they're interrupted, but it's nothing compared to the sound Messi makes. "God, you liked that, didn't you?" Casemiro says, half unable to believe it.

Messi quivers as Casemiro smooths his hand over a slowly forming pink handprint. But he doesn't say anything.

"Never would have guessed you'd like this," Casemiro says as he feels the heat of the hit rising to the surface. He'd never really thought about spanking before, but there's something about the creaminess of Messi's skin that eggs him on. "Would have done it years ago," he adds, bringing his hand down again. His cock jumps at Messi's moan, still desperately waiting what's coming. "Every time you bent over on the pitch," Casemiro says, smacking a third time and enjoying the bounce. "Every time you turned your back."

On the fourth time, he changes to the other cheek, feeling it's only fair to alternate. He doesn't want to hurt Messi after all--not too badly, in any case. And the pinkness on Messi's ass is vividly close to red. Messi is whining in front of him, hands opening and closing against the wall like they don't know what they should be doing. A fifth spank makes Messi groan outrageously, and Casemiro stops what he's doing to simply grope Messi's ass again and try to regain control.

"You'd have to catch me first," Messi says over his shoulder, dark eyes flashing even as the sweat drips down from his hairline. His whole body seems to be glistening with it now, but he gives no sign he's bothered. The flush in his face has traveled down his neck and threatened to match the color of the handprints with which he's now decorated. "Something you seem incapable of doing."

Casemiro feels a flicker curl into his stomach as he envisions watching Messi skip by him on the pitch again and again... and he knows exactly what Messi's doing.

"Oh? Pretty sure I've caught you now," Casemiro retorts, squeezing handfuls of flesh while he contemplates how he wants it. He could have Messi up against the wall just like this... Or on his hands and knees? Hard on the tile, bruise him up a bit? Mount him like an animal? Pound into him like there's no tomorrow?

It's heady knowing that Messi will be feeling it for days afterward.

"Ney never said you liked it rough, but maybe he didn't know. And maybe Ney wasn't man enough to give you what you needed," Casemiro says thoughtfully. His hand rises to rest on Messi's nape, tangling in dark hair for a second before he traces his fingers slowly down Messi's spine. At the small of Messi's back, he pauses, just letting his hands settle on the swell of Messi's ass to let the anticipation build.

Whether that's for him or for Messi, he's not quite sure, but the result is the same. "And what is it you think I need?" Messi asks, near breathless as he waits for Casemiro to do something--anything.

"I bet he treated you like glass," Casemiro murmurs, ignoring Messi again, eyes drawn again to the firm globes in front of him. "I bet he had you on silk sheets and rose petals or some bullshit, kissed you like he thought you were going to break." He smirks as he slides his hands down and finally digs his thumbs into the crease. "Bet he had no idea what to do with you--how to make you happy. And I bet he never even thought about doing this," he adds victoriously, sinking to his knees and spreading Messi open entirely.

Messi pounds his fist against the wall at the first touch of Casemiro's tongue, biting his wrist to keep from screaming.

"He's a good boy, you know," Casemiro says, pulling back and licking his lips. The little pucker in front of him is wet with saliva, begging for his mouth again. Wet, but not nearly wet enough. "Before I would have said you were well matched, but now that I've seen you like this? He's so vanilla, it never would have occurred to him that he could be having you like this on a daily basis--his raptures about your ass aside."

"He--," Messi says brokenly, gasping when Casemiro breathes hotly over his hole. "Don't talk about--," he says then, but he's unable to finish.

Casemiro doesn't really need to hear Messi's excuses for Ney, he only knows that he's got a job to get back to. Not that it's a hardship to eat Messi out, to dig his tongue inside that tight heat and lick him open.

It's true what he said. Neymar would never have dared to touch Messi with anything other than gentleness. And he most definitely would never have done this--would have thought it too dirty.

Casemiro has no such thoughts. Over and over, wiggles his tongue deeper and deeper, gets him good and ready while Messi pants and curses above him. The sounds only spur him on, his cock leaking copiously between his thighs. "You feel so good," he praises, lifting his head only to breathe. "Can't wait to have you clenching around me."

He throbs desperately, thoroughly enjoying the way his hands look spread out over Messi's pale skin. "And you like it, don't you?" Casemiro presses, sucking a finger into his mouth and then rubbing around the rim of Messi's entrance to tease him. He licks a wet stripe over one of Messi's cheeks, giving Messi some respite. "You like being at my mercy," he says as he finally dips his finger inside.

Messi's tight heat clings to him, sending a shudder through both of them. "Shut up," Messi breathes wantonly. "Oh, god, shut up."

Casemiro elbows Messi's thighs as wide as he can get them, pushing his finger in slowly and surely. It goes, but oh, it's hot--so hot--and Casemiro goes back to licking him open at the same time, tongue and finger doing their best to stretch. He's impatient, already past his limit, pulling out his finger so that he can add two--dying to finger fuck Messi until he's screaming. "Look at you take it," Casemiro says gleefully.

Nobody will ever believe it, he knows.

*He* never would have believed it.

Messi's reputation is pristine. That is to say, there's not much said about it. Casemiro knew he and Ney were a thing. That was far from a secret, and everyone assumed Messi and Agüero had been together at least a few times over the years. If he had to guess, he would assume that Suárez had tapped that once or twice too.

Maybe Cristiano.

Certainly was enough sexual tension there.

Other than that, everyone with eyes could see that Messi had a luscious ass and good sized cock, which probably starred in a number of fantasies. There had admittedly been times where Casemiro had thought of those particular attributes himself on a few cold and lonely nights.

But there weren't any *dirty* rumors about Messi that Casemiro can ever think of hearing.

And there's certainly nothing floating around about the way Messi's currently fucking himself back on Casemiro's fingers like a cock hungry bitch. Ass mottled with pink handprints, tattooed forearm braced against the wall, lips parted only to let out short, breathy moans... No, Casemiro never would have believed this if he weren't seeing it with his own eyes.

As it is, he'll long remember this and put it to good use when it's just him and his hand.

"Aren't you a good little slut," Casemiro groans, moving his fingers in and out, curling them as he searches for the perfect little nub that he knows will make Messi see stars. "I wish you could see yourself right now. The perfect little whore." He's not usually into dirty talk but he's feeding off Messi's reaction to it.

"Fuck off," Messi mumbles, though he continues to rock himself back and forth on Casemiro's fingers and shudders in an attractive way. "Go back to using your tongue again," he orders, hands flattening on the tiles beside his head as he bends completely at the waist. "Cause that's certainly all it's good fo--ahhh fuck!" he breaks off as Casemiro finds what he's looking for.

"There it is," Casemiro croons, crooking his finger again and watching gleefully as Messi jerks like he's been electrocuted. "Knew I'd find it." He prods the spot with his fingers one more time, enjoying the way Messi's gone completely quiet except for a sharp inhalation.

"How's it feel, hmm? You wanna come like this?" Casemiro asks. "Spurt all over the wall for someone to find?" he suggests, even though he has no intention of ending this night anyway other than with his cock buried in Messi's tight ass. "Let them know that a good little culé got fucked by a Madridista?"

It's not such a surprise when Messi turns back over his shoulder and narrows his eyes. But what he says puts a damper on Casemiro's ardor. "Take 'em out," Messi growls, daring Casemiro to challenge him.

Casemiro's dumbfounded, but he obeys. "What?" he asks, dragging his fingers out slowly. The slide is torturous, Messi's tight heat feeling like velvet. "Too far?" he asks as he tries to figure out what he's done that Messi doesn't like.

The dirty talk, maybe?

The club colors coming in to play?

Or just the talking altogether?

His cock throbs with regret, and he looks up at Messi's ass mournfully.

Messi turns to look down on him, running a hand over his face and through his hair to send it every which way. His entire chest is flushed, marks on his skin zigzagging oddly and looking like an imprint from the tile. But his tiny nipples are furled tightly to show that he's still entirely aroused. And that's not even mentioning the thick cock leaking between his thighs. "Not wrong, but," he says, breathing heavily.

And Casemiro feels a whole lot better about the situation. He's on his knees before Messi and licks his lips. "Then?" he asks, still not sure why they've stopped. "You want me to suck you off?" he offers.

It's not his favorite thing to do, but it'll be no hardship to suck Messi's cock. Especially one that looks like that. His mouth waters even thinking about it and he smiles lazily up at Messi in satisfaction. His hands slowly snake up Messi's thighs, settling on the trim waist as he leans in and breathes hotly. "Yes?"

Messi's eyes dart to his lips, his cock twitching slightly in response. "No," he says, chest heaving. Then he reaches down and shoves Casemiro backward onto the floor.

Casemiro manages to fall without doing permanent harm to his ligaments, but he gives Messi a glare anyway. "Easy," he warns. "You can forget about doing anything at all if you do screw up my knees."

The tile is cold against his back and he squirms uncomfortably. No doubt it's covered in dust and dirt and he doesn't want to think about what else. That aside, he can't imagine what he looks like sprawled out over the floor, cock hanging out obscenely over his white shorts while Messi stands over him.

Still, he knows he has a good body and he preens, flexing slightly while he lets Messi look his fill.

Messi gives him a once over. He must like what he sees because he doesn't run away screaming or anything. Then he uses his toes to step on his own underwear and blue shorts, stepping out of his clothes gracefully until he's entirely nude. He kicks them to the side carelessly. "Oh?" he asks, lips turning up into a sort of smirk that Casemiro's never seen on his face before. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

He doesn't really give Casemiro a chance to reply, and instead squats down and starts to pull off Casemiro's shorts and underwear. "Should I go back to Ney then? Leave you just like this?" Messi asks with a raised eyebrow, tossing Casemiro's clothes back toward his own without a backward glance. "Is that what you really want?"

Messi's body becomes catlike, and he goes to his hands and knees to *slowly* crawl up between Casemiro's legs. His head and shoulders are lowered, ass raised high, and if he had a tail he'd be wiggling it.

"The fuck you will," Casemiro says, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches that perfect ass sway from side to side. It jiggles so gloriously he groans with desire until his view is blocked by Messi's smirking face.

Barely in control, Casemiro sits up entirely and threads his fingers through Messi's dark hair to yank his head back. Messi's eyes are flashing dangerously, but he doesn't protest. "If you want a boy," Casemiro says softly, "then you can go back to Ney. But if you want a man..." he trails off, the other hand reaching around to squeeze Messi's ass roughly.

Messi jerks his head out of Casemiro's grip, probably losing some hair in the process. He shoves Casemiro in the chest again and laughs. "You think you're the man to do it?" he asks as he straddles Casemiro's thighs and grasps Casemiro's cock. "I've got plenty of people begging for my number. A few of them are probably out in the hallway waiting for you."

Casemiro jerks, feeling Messi's hot fingers caressing his length. "None of them will give it to you like I will. Oh, yes. I'll give you what you want," he pants, watching Messi's pale hand become a loose fist. It feels so fucking good. And all it does is make him want to fuck Messi's ass. "What you *really* want. I'll make it good for you, Messi," Casemiro grins, gripping Messi's hip.

Messi's smirk lessens into something kinder, which is startling enough.

But then he shifts his hips and raises up on his knees. "Promises, promises," Messi murmurs, spreading his thighs just so and lining up Casemiro's cock. He spits on his hand and then adds that to Casemiro's own wetness, slicking himself up in preparation. "I'll hold you to it," he warns before he starts to lower himself.

The tip of Casemiro's cock catches on his hole and both of them stop breathing. After that it's a slow, gradual grinding downward by Messi's hips, a shift from side to side where Casemiro has to force himself not to move the entire time. There's rough, and then there's too rough, and Casemiro is fighting the battle not to fall into the latter.

It's incredibly hard, though. Because Messi feels like heaven around him. That tight velvety heat gloriously hugs his cock, and with Messi circling his hips and dragging himself in each direction... "Tell me when you're ready," Casemiro begs, knowing he must look desperate.

He feels desperate.

Whatever composure he'd started out with is gone now, and only raging hormones remain.

But he keeps his hands locked on Messi's hips, even as his eyes are locked on Messi's face.

Messi's eyes are closed in concentration, and he's biting his lower lip with the effort to take Casemiro's cock. It takes too goddamn long, and Casemiro's just about to lose it when Messi's eyes flutter open. He's fully seated now, bottomed out with his ass flush with Casemiro's body. "Well then," Messi says, bottom lip reddened from chewing and eyes bright from the exertion.

Casemiro's fingers tighten on Messi's waist.

"Carlos--," Messi breathes, and that's all it takes.

Casemiro didn't even know Messi knew his first name. But the sound of it dripping from those tempting lips nearly makes him spill himself immediately. "Jesus fucking Christ," he says instead, snapping his hips upward, trying to shove his cock so far up Messi's ass that he'll never walk again.

There's no way to describe the sound Messi makes in response, but Messi rakes his nails down Casemiro's chest in punishment. "Fuck!"

It would hurt, except Messi's nails are virtually nonexistent-bitten down to the nub. That doesn't stop him from trying to tear holes into Casemiro's chest.

Finally, Messi resorts to slapping his palms flat on Casemiro's stomach. "Did I say," Messi grunts, brow furrowed, "that I was ready?" His tone implies that Casemiro's a complete asshole, but the way he shifts his hips says otherwise. "Haven't you heard that good things come to those who wait?"

Casemiro tries not to bite through his tongue, instinctually wanting to keep chasing the pleasure he knows his coming to him. But he stops moving entirely. He greedily skims his eyes up Messi's body, noting that Messi's erection hasn't flagged and if anything, the flush across Messi's chest has increased. "I'm not much good at waiting," he says, pulling his legs up so that his knees are bent and his feet are flat on the floor. "You might have noticed that I go after what I want."

The next thrust is much easier.

Messi rides it better this time, too, bracing himself on Casemiro's belly and flexing his thighs in a way that should be illegal. His eyes flutter shut and he lets out a long breath like he's trying to compose himself, tips of his fingers still trying to curl into Casemiro's skin. But he must adjust pretty damn quickly because after a beat he opens his eyes and licks his lips.

And then he starts to bounce on Casemiro's cock a whole lot faster.

Starts to *ride* him like he was born for it.

"Give it to me then," Messi taunts, pushing off Casemiro's belly and straightening his back. He elongates his body and raises a hand to his chest, twisting one of his own nipples and sighing at the sensation. "All you do is talk. Talk about what you're going to do, what you're going to give me... Ney was a talker. If I wanted talk, I'd go back to him." He rocks downward hard to meet Casemiro's upward thrusts. "So shut up and fucking do something."

Casemiro laughs, squeezing Messi's hips and getting into a rhythm. Hard and fast for a few, and then slow and deep. "Should have choked you with my cock when I had the chance," he says with a grin, pleased when Messi's eyes meet his eagerly. "Next time," he promises, reaching around and giving a good smack to Messi's ass. At the same time, he changes the angle of his thrust and hits that special spot that will make Messi see stars.

Messi shudders, moaning exquisitely.

"Oh, yes," Casemiro continues, a little out of breath now, thrusting up repeatedly and aiming for that exact spot again. He's starting to slide on the floor a bit, back entirely covered in sweat and dirt, and his hands are in a similar state--having trouble clinging to Messi's hips. "You on your knees before me," Casemiro says, smoothing his fingers up and down Messi's thighs, moving back up to fondle that glorious ass again. "My hands in your hair, holding you there while I fuck your hot, wet mouth..."

All of Messi's talk about him not talking has just spurred him to keep going, to keep up a constant flow of fantasies, of promises of what's to come.

Messi's arching over top of him now, undulating in the most attractive way. His eyes are closed, lips parted, hands tugging on his own hair like he doesn't know what to do. "Yesss," he hisses, gasping and groaning each time Casemiro surges upward. "Yesss, yesss, yesss."

"Maybe in the showers," Casemiro pants, feeling the heat start to pool in his belly and pushing it back down for now. "Your knees will be bruised from the tile, mouth stretched open wide to swallow whatever I give you. Maybe I'll keep you there for hours, keep you gagging on it until you can't breathe and I fill you up with my come. Maybe with your teammates only a few yards away, wondering where their precious angel's gone. Can you imagine the shock on their faces if they found us?"

Messi whimpers above him, and Casemiro *cannot* stop talking.

"Or maybe we're in my locker room's shower instead," Casemiro says. "With *my* teammates right around the corner." He licks his lips, barely able to believe what he's saying, but Messi keeps riding him and doesn't say a word of protest. "Why, I think I'd have to call them in to see you. To see you crying and moaning like a filthy whore, lips stretched around my cock."

Casemiro can't stop.

"Maybe we'd see what you'd look like," Casemiro continues, switching to slow and deep again, "With. One. In. Each. End."

Apparently that's all Messi can take, because before Casemiro realizes it, Messi's shooting his load all over Casemiro's chest.

Casemiro laughs and fucks him through it, unable to stop thrusting even if he wanted to. Messi's entire body seems to have gone boneless, shuddering with aftershocks, as he hunches over and weakly tries to brace himself on Casemiro's stomach. "Fuckkkk," Messi groans, stretching the word out and desperately trying to breathe. His hands settle on Casemiro's shoulders then, completely exhausted.

He probably doesn't have another one in him, Casemiro reasons, especially right after a game. That would be quite an experiment for another time, though--fuck Messi through an orgasm and try to get him hard again for a second.

Still, Casemiro needs to come and he finds that this position isn't working any longer now that Messi's useless. He pauses his upward motion and slaps Messi on the ass again, this time more of a love tap than an actual hit. "We're moving," he warns, giving Messi a few seconds to orient himself before he grips Messi's waist and rolls them until Messi's on his back.

Messi oomphs, but is still working on catching his breath and doesn't seem to mind.

Casemiro snaps his hips forward, chasing his own pleasure, but all that time on his back has made him ache in the wrong places. "Wait a minute," he mutters, feeling older than he should as he grips his cock and slowly pulls out. His knees are hurting too, but that at least he can deal with.

Messi sucks in a breath. He stays where he is once Casemiro's pulled back, thighs spread open, hole red and glistening, arms stretched out to his sides. He looks wrecked.

And entirely satisfied!

Or at least, a little too much for someone who just came at the idea of Casemiro's teammates joining in on their fun.

Casemiro looks down, fisting his cock thoughtfully. Messi's come is dripping all over his stomach and he wonders if maybe he should just repay the favor and come all over Messi's chest. Those tiny nipples are standing proudly, reddened from Messi's fingers, and beckoning him to touch them. They're as good as any pair of tits Casemiro's seen, really.

And he didn't think he had a fetish, but... Casemiro finds he wants to suck them and pinch them, or maybe rub them with his cock and spill himself all over them.

Messi licks his lips as if reading his mind and grins saucily.

Casemiro thinks about coming on Messi's smug face then, painting thick white stripes over those red lips and that pink tongue, spurting in that black hair... That would be something, wouldn't it--something he could relive over and over after this moment is over, something that he'd envision every time he saw Messi's face after this on the pitch.

Or he could do what he'd been fantasizing about: stuff Messi's mouth full, make him swallow it all down until there's nothing left. The heat is pooling in his stomach again, his cock throbbing in his hand as he lazily pumps himself and considers his options.

Messi shifts restlessly, which reminds Casemiro that his ass probably hurts like hell--both from being fucked and getting spanked.

Casemiro suddenly has a desire to see it again.

To see his handiwork.

He twirls his finger.

"Flip over," Casemiro coaxes.

Messi groans, draping an arm over his eyes. "Can't you just come on my face like you were planning on doing a second ago?" And when Casemiro just waits, Messi sighs dramatically. "My body feels like jelly," he informs Casemiro as he rolls, making sure it's known how great a favor he's actually doing. "Jelly roll," he mumbles to himself, cracking up slightly as he finally settles on his belly and rests his head on his folded arms.

Casemiro opens his mouth to ask and then thinks better of it. His eyes flick down to Messi's ass again, shaking his head in amazement as it really sinks in that this is real. All of this happened tonight somehow.

Messi's back is wet with sweat. His whole body is, in fact. He near shimmers in the fluorescent lighting above them, looking as if he's been oiled up for some sort of photoshoot. There are fingerprints bruised into his hips on either side of his body, handprints purpling on his tiny waist. And his ass looks even bigger than it normally does, somehow, if that's even possible--perhaps swollen from all of Casemiro's hits. It's certainly nowhere near that perfect porcelain color it started, now a mottled pink and red with the tiniest bit of raised welts from where Casemiro smacked too hard.

Casemiro becomes aware that his hand is moving faster and faster on his cock and he has to focus to rein it in. "Spread your legs," he says, near the point of begging. He hopes Messi can't hear the tremble in his voice, doesn't want him to know how much this all turns him on. "More," he orders when Messi complies but it isn't wide enough.

There's a huff then, but Messi spreads his thighs wider. He doesn't move other than that, still looking perfectly at ease with his head pillowed on his arms. It's like he's waiting for a massage or something, as opposed to waiting for Casemiro's cock.

Casemiro slides back into Messi's ass like he never left, unable to keep from sighing as he sheathes himself back into that tight heat. "Good boy," he croons, when Messi merely takes it, sliding his hand up Messi's spine and then back down. "It's like you were made for my cock," he continues, starting to thrust again, knowing he can't do slow and deep any longer.

It's gotta be hard and fast now, his cock beyond bursting.

Messi doesn't feel the need to complain. His body is completely relaxed, tight around Casemiro's cock, but loose and pliant otherwise. He rocks with Casemiro's body, letting Casemiro take complete control.

It's a heady feeling. The whole night has been heady, and at some point, Casemiro knows he's going to wake up and figure out this has all been some sort of twisted dream. But for now, he's going to really enjoy it. The pleasure is building again, heat pooling in his belly, curling through his nerves like white-hot fire.

A flash of movement draws his eyes and he realizes that down the end on the wall is a floor to ceiling mirror, and if he squints, he can see himself fucking Messi in it. There isn't much to see at the moment--just mostly himself moving back and forth with Messi prone in front of him. But then Messi lifts his head and braces himself on his elbows, raising his ass higher in a mockery of a yoga position.

Messi meets Casemiro's eyes in the mirror.

And winks.

Casemiro's vision whites out and he comes, flooding Messi's insides whether he wanted to or not. He has a brief second of thought that he'd meant to come all over Messi's back, over his ass, over the marks he'd left, but it's too late for that now and he tries not to completely crush Messi to death as he slumps over.

"If I'd known you liked to watch yourself," Messi says beneath him, annoyingly loud, "I would have mentioned the mirror awhile ago."

"You're interrupting my afterglow," Casemiro murmurs, face mashed into Messi's shoulder blade. He turns his head so he can breathe, focusing on getting air into his lungs while he mentally catalogs where all of his limbs are. "Also, I didn't really know I liked that," he admits after a beat, realizing he can hear Messi's heartbeat under his ear. It's pretty steady now, and Casemiro's gradually slows to match him.

"You're a lot kinkier than I thought you'd be," Messi says conversationally as if they aren't both completely naked and still connected. If he has a complaint about the come leaking out of his ass, he keeps it to himself.

Casemiro laughs, eventually raising himself up enough to pull his cock out. He doesn't do much more than that and just collapses back next to Messi on the dirty floor. He should probably clean up, and really the fact that they haven't been interrupted before now is a fucking miracle. But Casemiro would much rather just lie here and do nothing. "Look who's talking," he finally responds, realizing Messi is staring at him expectantly.

"And you're not complaining, are you?" Messi asks, turning on his side to face Casemiro completely. He leans on his elbow and props his head up with his hand. "Ney certainly didn't."

Casemiro blinks. "What?"

Messi's cheeky smile reappears, and he wiggles his eyebrows. "You don't *really* think that he never figured out what I liked, do you?" He laughs at Casemiro's shocked expression. "Took a little while to get him to take a hint, and then a little practice to get it just right, but Ney was always a fast learner..."

"But," Casemiro says, wracking his brain for everything Neymar ever said about Messi, "he never let on anything."

Messi smiles serenely. "Of course he didn't. Despite what most people think and say about him, he knows the meaning of discretion. Loose lips and all that." He flicks his gaze down at himself and then back up at Casemiro. "Not to mention, he knew I wouldn't let him have me ever again. I appreciate my privacy, and those who break it aren't easily forgiven."

"Think a bit much of yourself, don't you?" Casemiro asks, propping himself up and copying Messi's position. He's trying to process everything he's just heard. He's still stuck on the fact that Neymar was doing anything other than boring missionary in the dark. "What if *I* were to say something?"

Messi shrugs. "It's not very likely anyone will believe you," he says, pursing his lips and showing his displeasure. "But I'm not particularly ashamed of what I enjoy. I like a little pain with my pleasure, a lot of talk too, and that's not really such a big deal. So if you feel the need to shout it from the rooftops, don't let me stop you. Feel free." He licks his lips then. "But know that you won't be touching me anywhere other than the pitch, ever again."

Casemiro can hear the truth in his words, see the resolve in his gaze. Honestly, he's fucking tempted to try Messi. He's not sure what it is about him that gets under Casemiro's skin, but he can't deny that it exists. Still... He had an awfully good time tonight, and he's not willing to give that up.

And speaking of, nobody's interrupted them yet...

"Well, it was just an idea." Casemiro offers, sliding closer to Messi than is actually necessary, and putting his hand on Messi's hip. "I've never been much of a talker."

Messi laughs. "Could have fooled me," he says, eyes lidded and lashes batting ridiculously.

Of course, that's the last thing Messi says for a while after that. Because Casemiro finds a better use for his mouth.

A much better use.

**Author's Note:**

> Well... yikes right. Lol. What did you think? 7k of Messimiro that nobody asked for. I don't think I have plans to write these two again in the future, just needed to get it out of my system.


End file.
